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Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them. No one seemed inclined to court someone like her. They all adored her, or so they said, because she was so easy to talk to, and she always seemed to understand how a man felt. As one of the men Daphne had thought might make a reasonably good husband had said, “Deuce take it, Daff, you’re just not like regular females. You’re positively normal.” Which she might have managed to consider a compliment if he hadn’t proceeded to wander off in search of the latest blond beauty.
Daphne bit back another smile. “I don’t like your tone” was Violet’s standard answer when one of her children was winning an argument.
“Who would have thought I could be so terrifying?” Daphne murmured, thinking of all the men who thought of her as a jolly good friend and nothing more. “How wonderful.”
realized. At least not since her father had died ten years earlier. Violet was such a mother—Daphne had forgotten that she was a woman as well.
“Good. I shall go off and scare some sense into him.” Violet took two steps then turned around. “Having children is such a challenge.” Daphne just smiled. She knew it was a challenge her mother adored.
“Indeed,” Hyacinth replied, using such cultured tones that Simon briefly wondered if there were actually a forty-year-old matron inside her ten-year-old body. “It was here that Sir Walter Raleigh laid his cloak upon the ground so that Queen Elizabeth would not have to dirty her slippers in a puddle.”
“Any man, you’ll soon learn, has an insurmountable need to blame someone else when he is made to look a fool.”
“And if you say that’s because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I’m disowning all three of you.” All three men shut their mouths.
